


Someone To Walk With Me

by Heathersparrows



Series: The Nameless Island Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Azkaban, Gen, M/M, Memory Loss, prisoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heathersparrows/pseuds/Heathersparrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story is set after the events described in “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince”.<br/>The Wizarding World is happy when after Voldemort's downfall also Albus Dumbledore's murderer is caught and put to trial. Only a few people believe there is more to Severus Snape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone To Walk With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anne-Li (Anneli)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anneli/gifts).



Someone To Walk With Me

By Heather Sparrows

Rubeus Hagrid, Severus Snape and almost all other characters mentioned belong to Joanne K. Rowling.

 

“Have You Seen This Wizard?” 

posters ask all over Hogsmeade. The photograph is the only one Hagrid has ever seen of Severus Snape. He remembers well how it was taken at one of the Quidditch matches last summer, the photographer being Albus Dumbledore himself. He had been photographing the victorious Quidditch team, the Gryffindors, when quite unexpectedly, he had aimed the camera at the black-clad figure standing alone next to the field. A bit too late Snape had realised the Headmaster was taking his photograph. When he had noticed what Dumbledore was up to, he had turned his back. This movement was repeated over and over in the picture: The pale noble face framed by long strands of raven hair, grim and frowning at first, probably because the Slytherin team had been defeated again, then surprised for a second, realising that Dumbledore aimed a camera at him, finally turning away hastily.

“I hope they’ll find him soon!” Madam Rosmerta puts a beer tankard in front of Hagrid.

“Me too!” Young Alberich Cuthwell, the new Potions teacher at Hogwarts, joins in. “Never liked the greasy bastard anyway.”

Hagrid downs his beer and gets up.

“Leavin’ already, Hagrid?” Madam Rosmerta sounds surprised. 

“Need some fresh air.” Hagrid leaves the Three Broomsticks, Fang on his heels. 

He feels at a loss. Harry witnessed Snape kill Dumbledore. He himself has carried the Headmaster’s dead body to his grave. Wherever he goes, people tell him how much they despise the former Potions Master for what he has done, how glad they will be to see him arrested soon and hopefully getting what he deserves. They are full of hatred. But Hagrid, though he admits they may have their point, cannot hate Severus Snape. In his book, hating would be too easy. It may be foolish, but Hagrid cannot believe the story of the crazed murderer. He has seen too much of another Severus Snape, beginning with the day when a thin, unkempt eleven-year-old came to Hogwarts as a student.

The ungainly boy with the sharp nose and the sceptical dark eyes, black hair hanging in greasy strands around his pale, pinched face, caught Hagrid’s attention on the evening he arrived at Hogwarts for his first year, right when he left the train. Hagrid directed the children to the coaches, and he saw a frightened expression cross the boy’s face, only to be very quickly replaced by curiosity. He obviously could see the Thestrals, and he smiled contemptuously, hearing the boy next to him wonder what spell might move the coaches without an animal pulling them. Hagrid guessed that the boy, who reminded him of a young raven which had fallen from its nest, would not tell his neighbour about the skeletal, horse-like creatures. For the helping hand he offered the child to get on the boat after the coach ride, the gamekeeper merely earned an angry look from dark eyes.

During the sorting ceremony, the boy had been standing a bit apart from the other first year students, looking at the ceiling which showed the night sky with a multitude of stars. Awe and wonder had brightened his sharp face. He obviously had been unaware that another first year, a boy with glasses and an impish look, nudged his neighbours, a tall dark-haired boy and a shorter blond one, and had made a face, pointing at the small black-clad figure, which made the other boys giggle. Hearing them, the small loner had become aware that they were watching him. He had looked away from the ceiling, glaring at the giggling boys, giving Hagrid another angry look for good measure, when their eyes met.

Then the sorting ceremony had begun. Hagrid remembers well hearing that the skinny boy with the sharp, ugly face radiating intelligence is named Severus Snape. An apt name, somehow, and Hagrid had been a little surprised seeing Severus being sorted into the House of Slytherin. His guess had been Ravenclaw, but what did he know of such things?

 

*****  
“The Dark Lord Defeated! Seven Death Eaters Arrested! Severus Snape Still At Large!” 

the headline of the Daily Prophet screams at Hagrid from across the table. He has come to deliver a few multi-leafed bookplants to Madam Sprout, and has been persuaded to stay for breakfast at the staff table. The students are gathered in droves around those of their peers who are reading the paper, and almost all Hogwarts professors are standing around Alberich Cuthwell, reading the article and debating about it.

“So they found his hideout in London, and they killed him for good?” – “All these horcruxes have been destroyed now, it says here!” – “Harry Potter was with the Aurors!”

Beneath the headline, there is a large photograph of “Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived – the Dark Lord’s Nemesis”. A bespectacled young man looks back at Hagrid from the paper, in a strange imitation of Severus Snape’s photograph, first surprised, then angrily turning his back, probably to Rita Skeeter. Harry has grown up. He is a young wizard in his own right now, following in the footsteps of Albus Dumbledore. Since the Aurors are no longer under Bartimeus Crouch’s command, Harry has agreed to do an official Auror training.

//If only he wouldn’t hate so much,// Hagrid thinks. He had been friends with Harry, Ron and Hermione when they were children, and he has not minded the friendship becoming less close when they developed other interests and would no longer attend his Care of Magical Creatures classes. Children have to grow up and to go their own ways. What has alienated Hagrid from Ron and Harry during the last year has been their fanatical hatred of Severus Snape. Of course he knows that the hatred has been mutual, and that the blame will have to be put on Snape, at least for hating the son for the faults of the father –

“Would you all mind?!” The sharp voice of Minerva McGonagall resounds in the great hall. Everyone, teachers and students alike, look at her.

“Everybody please put the papers away. Finish your breakfast and attend classes as usual,” the Headmistress continues.

The teachers’ table has fallen silent, everybody seems completely occupied with eating what lies on their plates. Professor Flitwick stares into his teacup as if seeing impending doom there, like Sybil Trelawney uses to do. The Divination teacher, for a change, just tinkles with her countless bracelets and pendants when she takes up her cup or butters a slice of bread, looking dreamily out of the high windows. 

//At least she isn’t claiming she knows where Professer Snape is,// Hagrid thinks. He doesn’t blame the Headmistress for her sharp rebuke of students and teachers alike. She is trying to maintain order in a school where it has become almost a crime to belong to the House of Slytherin. She tries to bring the houses together again, to discourage rivalry between them, to make the students bring out the best in themselves, see the good in others. Hagrid does not envy her this task.

 

*****  
The joy over the defeat of the Dark Lord comes slowly. It seems as if after years of terror (which, in Hagrid’s book of unspoken thoughts, has not sprung from Voldemort and his Death Eaters alone) people have to get used to the thought that everything is over. Truly over. Almost. There is the matter of Severus Snape, the murderer of Albus Dumbledore, being still at large. For a lot of people, everything will only be over for good when Snape is caught and brought to trial. Hagrid, however, finds that he is not so sure about wanting Severus Snape to be caught. With Voldemort dead, and his henchmen dead as well, people are relieved, but at the same time they seem to feel a little bit cheated. They want their scapegoat and a public trial, and who else will be better suited for that role than Severus Snape, the only Death Eater still alive and not in Azkaban, the teacher all students hated, the “greasy git” his fellow students despised? The lonely bookish boy, sharp-witted and equally sharp-tongued ...

Hagrid remembers Severus Snape in his third year. The third year students had been allowed their first outing to Hogsmeade, and of course they were very excited, behaving even more wildly than the rest of the bunch, watched with annoyance or mild contempt by the older students. 

The school for a few hours quiet and empty, his daily chores mostly done, Hagrid had taken the opportunity to look up a potion in the potions section of the library. It was said to repel the featherworms, which had befallen the Hippogriffs’ wings. 

He had just begun to look through one of the books he had taken from the shelf, when he noticed that someone was watching him intently. He turned around. A skinny boy in a threadbare Slytherin robe was sitting in a niche by one of the big windows, his black eyes behind greasy strands of hair staring curiously at Hagrid. He always looked sullen or angry, like an aggressive young bird of prey, not to be trifled with.

“Hello,” Hagrid said, a little surprised. “ Yeh not at Hogsmeade?”

With a bored gesture, the boy flicked a strand of hair away from his face. His look was estimating. Probably he was trying out how cheeky he could become before the half-giant would get angry.

“Well, guess,” he answered languidly, “So far, the teaching schedule for my year has not provided me with lessons in being in two places at the same time. So, as you see me here, I’m probably not at Hogsmeade.”

Hagrid had been slightly stunned by the boy’s answer. “Well, yeah – “ he managed.

“Of course your question was purely rhetoric,” the boy continued haughtily. “What you really want to know is the reason why I have not gone to Hogsmeade. Well, there are generally four possibilities why a student does not go: First, he is in detention. I am not, because if I were, I would be in a teacher’s room, doing some boring task for him. Second: the student’s permission to go to Hogsmeade has not been signed, which applies in my case. Third: No one would want to accompany said student, and students are only allowed to go in groups of two persons at least. Normally, this problem is solved by one of the teachers in one way or the other. It is, however, irrelevant in my case anyway, because reason number two applies. Finally reason number four: Said student prefers staying at Hogwarts, because he wants to read and to study, which is what I intend to do now. So, will you please excuse me?”

With these words, the boy took up his book again, paying no further attention to a thunderstruck Hagrid. Certainly he had never heard such a speech from a thirteen-year-old before. Staring at him and then blaming him for interrupting his studies when he had tried to be friendly! Hagrid had caught the barb well. Behind the arrogant tones of the adolescent, however, he had also heard the sad, disappointed child who would have liked to go to Hogsmeade. 

What induced Hagrid to buy a small white sugar horse on his next trip into the village, beside the new sickle blade, fresh tea and tobacco he does not know even now, decades later. It was a foolish thing to do actually, but he bought it nevertheless. Neither can he tell why he put it on the windowsill in the niche near the shelves containing the potions books. And would someone ask him why he lingered near the potions section as if he had nothing better to do, he would be unable to answer that question either. 

He did not have to wait long, until he saw the pale boy again. Severus walked along the shelves, selected a few books, retreating to his favourite niche with them. Putting his books down on the bench, he frowned at the little horse. It galloped along the windowsill, rising up on its hind legs in front of the boy. Severus extended a thin, long-fingered and slightly grubby hand, and the horse jumped onto his palm, galloping up the sleeve of his threadbare, shabby robe. A smile lit up the boy’s frown when he picked the toy from his shoulder, holding it in his palm again. Hagrid could see his inner fight whether he should take the little horse, when he obviously thought it belonged to someone else who had forgotten to take it with him. His eyes became sad, and he put the sweet toy back on the windowsill, where it became inanimate again. He took up his books and settled down into another niche in the large room.

Hagrid waited until he could be fairly sure that Young Severus would be deeply immersed in his books. Then he pretended to look something up in the potions section, casually strolled over to the niche, hastily took the little horse and slunk away, feeling rather sheepish. He knew that it would have looked strange if he had given the toy to Severus in person. So his plan with the boy finding the sweet toy by accident and keeping it had come to nothing. Hagrid had taken it home, had wrapped it into some tinfoil and forgotten about it.

Maybe he has it somewhere still, if not one of the animals has eaten it. What he has not forgotten, however, is the brief smile lighting up Young Severus’s face.

 

*****  
“Severus Snape Arrested!” 

This headline greets Hagrid when he enters the Three Broomsticks a few months after his last visit, when he had left so hurriedly. He has tried to get into a better mood by coming down to Hogsmeade, treating himself to Madam Rosmerta’s Saturday Brunch Buffet. Now he finds that all of a sudden he is not hungry at all. He would leave again on the spot, but on the other hand he wants to know ... So he takes the paper from the stand and squeezes his bulk into a niche with a free table. It is early, so the pub is still fairly quiet. Hagrid begins to read.

“Severus Snape, the last Death Eater, wanted for the murder of Albus Dumbledore, the unforgotten late Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has been arrested in London yesterday evening. He had been at large since he killed Albus Dumbledore over a year ago. Not even after the final downfall of his master, Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self-proclaimed Dark Lord, had the Aurors been able to lure the highly trained Legilimens and Occlumens out of his hiding place. 

“We were lucky,” says Harry Potter, the young Auror who arrested Snape, with his usual modesty. Potter has also played a key role in ending the Dark Lord’s reign of terror seven months ago. Now he has brought down another dangerous criminal: Snape was arrested at a hotel room in the Pentagram, where he allegedly was treating the injuries of a young witch who worked at the hotel kitchen.

Minister Rufus Scrimgeour says: “We are very proud of Mr Potter. I see a glorious future for him as an Auror.” 

Severus Snape’s future will be less glorious. He is awaiting his trial in a cell at the Ministry of the Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

There is another article announced for page two, which promises more information, but Hagrid finds he knows everything he wants to know already.

“Morning, Hagrid.” Alberich Cuthwell takes the seat opposite the half-giant. 

“Mornin’, Professer Cuthwell.”

Madam Rosmerta emerges from the kitchen, grabs two plates from a stack near the buffet and puts them in front of Hagrid and Cuthwell. 

“Good morning, Hagrid, good morning, Mr Cuthwell. What would you like to drink?”

“A tea would be fine,” Alberich says. 

“And you, Rubeus? Tea as well? It’s so good to see you down here again, for a change. It doesn’t do you any good at all, you know, being always up there in the woods with all these horrible creatures! You must tell me what you think of my Hogsmeade Sausages. I’ve tried a completely new recipe!”

“Ah – thanks, Rosmerta,” Hagrid manages when the landlady of the Three Broomsticks finally pauses to take a breath. “Yes, tea fer me ‘s well. But I’m not very hungry terday, actually.”

“As you wish.” Madam Rosmerta seems a bit hurt.

“I will gladly sample your buffet, Rosmerta,” Cuthwell throws in. “It looks delicious. – Er – do you still need the paper, Hagrid?”

Mollified by the Potions teacher’s compliment, Rosmerta leaves their table to prepare the tea, and Hagrid hands Cuthwell the paper.

There is another photograph accompanying the article on page two, a new one, taken at the scene of the arrest. Severus Snape coming out of the hotel, Harry Potter and another Auror to his left and right. Snape looks haunted, thin and dishevelled, his black hair obscuring half of his face. 

Hagrid finds himself staring at the picture. It might be wrong, but he wants to take the man into his arms...

//Should’ve gone over ter him tha’ night – what? – bout more n’ twenty years ago,// He thinks. //But he’d been badly hurt and he was a little bit outta his mind ...//

It had been in autumn, close to winter. Hagrid had been in the woods, gathering chestnuts. On his way back, it had been dark already, he had taken the path around the lake. Near an old weeping willow, he had heard muffled sounds. The evening was fairly clear, the moon, well on its way to becoming full, had given a good light. So he had no difficulties recognising the half-naked figure crouching by the shore of the lake, sobbing. The matted black hair and sharp nose left no doubt about who was crouching there, clad only in his shirt, the rest of his clothing in a disorderly heap beside him. 

Hagrid was just about to rush up to the youth, to look whether he had been hurt, when Severus began to spout curses like mad. A bush caught fire, not far away from where the half-giant was standing; heavy branches crashed down from nearby trees; the weeping willow tree shook wildly, then split in the middle. Obviously the youth was beside himself with fury. Knowing enough about injured animals which often were dangerous in their pain, Hagrid decided to let Severus exhaust his fury before he would approach him.

After a while, Severus stopped his curses. Breathing heavily, he squatted down for a moment, before getting up unsteadily, limping to the water and stepping into the lake, where he frantically washed his legs and lower body, muttering and whispering to himself. He stumbled out of the water, shivering, gathering his clothes and putting them on. The youth came close to where Hagrid stood in the dark, so the gamekeeper could understand a few snatches of what Severus was whispering and muttering.

“Bastard! – Bastard! – I’ll get you, swine! – How could you know? You must’ve smelled ...” The youth began to cry again, and, looking back, Hagrid curses himself for not coming out of his hiding place there and then, trying to comfort Severus, to calm him down.

The youth wiped snot from his nose, looking around, at the burning bush, the ravaged trees, but apparently he did not see the damage he had done. The expression on his face was shocked, hurt, as if he could not grasp what had been done to him.

“Why?” he whispered, “Why? – Why do I have to be Snivellus? Know I can’t be ‘nice’! – Hurts – but maybe that’s all Snivellus will ever get ...” 

He shrugged, then wiped his nose and his eyes again. That was when Hagrid had actually taken a step towards him, but then Severus’s face became a distorted grimace of hatred.

“I’ll show you – show you all! – Want to see you die and rot, Bastard! – You and your oh so great ‘friends’!” He spat out the last word. “You’ll see what Snivellus can do!”

Hagrid was shocked by the pain and the hatred in the youth’s voice and face. This was not just the outbreak of an adolescent in the throes of his emotions, and Hagrid discarded the thought that maybe some of his peers, most probably James Potter or Sirius Black, had just beaten him up and thrown him into the lake. The determination in Severus’s face and burning eyes was too strong. Hagrid felt reminded of a beaten animal. Kicked and pestered long enough, it would one day bite or kick back. It would be wary and aggressive. To regain its trust would take a long time... Something worse must have happened than just a stupid prank ...

The hateful expression vanished from Severus’s face, and just at that moment Hagrid noticed a few lights moving from the castle towards the lake. Voices called the youth’s name. 

For a moment, Severus made as if to run, but then he rallied, wiped his face again and walked towards the lights. His face showed a haughty, unreadable mask, the indignant arrogance of an adolescent who had gone for a walk and had been a little late in returning to the castle, so what of it?

Hagrid had quietly retreated. Looking back, he is convinced that somehow he has let Severus down that evening. He guesses that some of the nastier curses in the Half-Blood Prince’s book have been thought out after that night. What would have been different had he been able to reach out to Severus, to calm him down, or at least given it a try? Probably not much, Hagrid modestly thinks, but it had been a chance, and he has missed it ...

He flinches, when a hand puts a tray with a teapot and crockery on the table in front of him. Madam Rosmerta is smiling sweetly at her two guests.

“Your tea, Gentlemen.”

“Um, thank yeh, Rosmerta.” Nervously, Hagrid pours himself a cup, as always having slight difficulties with the crockery which is a bit small for his big hands.

“A Sickle for your thoughts!” Madam Rosmerta continues. 

Hagrid gives a noncommittal grunt, hoping the landlady will take the hint that he is not in the mood to chat, but no such luck. It certainly does not help that he is still staring at the paper, in which Alberich is reading avidly the commentaries of the different ministries now, absentmindedly twirling his digit, commanding the teaspoon to stir the hot tea in his cup.

Rosmerta’s eyes follow Hagrid’s gaze.

“Now isn’t it a blessing that Harry has finally caught that horrible man!” she exclaims. “Who would have thought that he –“ She interrupts her sentence, her eyes filling with tears. “To think that I’ve been one of the last people to see Professor Dumbledore alive!” she sobs. “And I’ve been under an Imperius Curse! It was all so horrible!”

Hagrid sighs inwardly. He does not deny that Rosmerta has been through a lot, and he is more than grateful and happy to see her alive and well, doing business as usual. But now that fruitless talk about last year’s events will begin again, and it will end as usual in hateful words about Severus Snape, from people who otherwise are really friendly and good to be with.

Awkwardly, Hagrid pats the sobbing landlady’s arm. Alberich Cuthwell puts the paper down and offers Rosmerta his seat. 

“There, there, Rosmerta,” he comforts her.

“It’s over now,” Hagrid joins in, hoping that maybe the joint efforts of two men comforting her will flatter Rosmerta enough to calm her down. “Yeh’ve bin through a lot, that’s fer certain, Rosmerta, but ev’rythin’ turned out well in the end, didn’t it?”

//Well, at least fer some people ...//

Rosmerta takes a handkerchief out of her bosom and dries her eyes. 

“Oh well, I should not complain. At least I can take down that terrible poster now.” She points to Snape’s “Wanted” poster over the bar. “It’s given me the creeps all day, but I couldn’t very well take it down as long as he was still at large, could I?”

“But we can now!” With a magnanimous gesture, Alberich draws his wand and waves it towards the poster. It comes off the wall, is torn into pieces as if by invisible hands. Under Madam Rosmerta’s critical gaze the pieces flutter into the waste bin next to the bar.

Hagrid shudders.

“There!” Alberich exclaims, highly satisfied with himself. “Severus Snape – resquiescat in pace!”

Hagrid shudders again.

“Rest in peace – or in pieces!” Cuthwell feels perhaps urged to joke, in a feeble attempt to brighten the somewhat tense mood.

//I should leave,// Hagrid thinks, hearing himself say: “With all due respect, Professer Cuthwell, tha’ was an old one!”

Hastily, he puts a hand in front of his mouth. It frightens him that he can bear hateful words or tasteless jokes at Severus Snape’s expense less and less. He would have left there and then, but just at that moment Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger come in. Hagrid has not seen them in a while, and so he stays to greet them, although he knows what the talk will be about.

“Now isn’t it wonderful that they finally caught this – this horrible creature?” With a new audience, Madam Rosmerta begins again. “Now, don’t you like your tea, Hagrid?”

“It’s still too hot.”

“I never liked him anyway,” Ron throws in.

//What else is new, boy?// Hagrid thinks testily, gulping down his cup of tea. He pours himself another cup. He will finish his pot of tea and then leave. That will have been his last visit to the “Three Broomsticks” for a long time, to be sure. At least, until people will talk about other subjects again.

“How could Professor Dumbledore allow him to teach at Hogwarts at all? To give children and young people into the care and responsibility of such a man!” Alberich Cuthwell again.

Hagrid noisily stirs five lumps of sugar into his tea. 

“It is not as if I liked him,” Hermione says, “but still there are so many contradictions around the man. I am not sure ...”

“Hey, he killed Dumbledore!” Ron objects.

“To think that he used to come here sometimes to drink his pint of ale or a brandy.” This is Rosmerta again. “I would never have thought he’d do such a thing!”

Ron raises his cup. “To the ugly Greasy Git! I hope he gets what he deserves! May he rot in Azkaban –“

A thundering crash makes him stop before Hermione can scold him. Madam Rosmerta screams, Cuthwell jumps up with a curse, Ron looks thunderstruck, Hermione frightened. Hagrid’s mighty fist has crashed down on the oaken table, sending crockery, cutlery, and the newspaper flying. The table has collapsed.

Hagrid stands, taking a deep breath, his shaggy head almost touching the ceiling of the large room.

“Sorry, Rosmerta,” he says. “I’ll pay fer ev’rythin’ of course. Sorry yeh all fer givin’ yeh a start. I - I jes’ can’t stand tha’ kind o’ talk any longer.”

With these words he flees from the pub. 

//This had ter happen,// he thinks while he walks back to his hut. //They had it coming with their talk, hadn’t they?// He is ashamed, though, that he has flown off the handle. But all these self-righteous words are said so easily ...

 

*****  
“Life Sentence for Severus Snape!”

Hagrid does not want to read that newspaper article. He has attended the public trial, and it has been horrible. The thin, pale defendant, in chains, flanked by two Dementors – Hagrid has seen how exhausted and haunted the man looks. 

Snape had not said one word during the whole trial, as if he knew that it would be useless to explain, to defend himself. Or is there nothing he could say in his defence? 

The most horrible thing, however, was the hatred which emanated from the crowd – almost taking shape, a gigantic, hungry monster with a terrible abyss for a mouth, filled with rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth. Hagrid actually saw it for a moment in his inner eye, and watching Snape, he is almost convinced that he has seen the monster as well – or his own version of it. 

But the Potions Master faced the monster, his head lifted proudly, his face a mask of cold contempt – most of the time. Hagrid has noted the slight shiver of the thin frame and the shadow of fear in the dark eyes when the judge sentenced Severus Snape to lifelong imprisonment in Azkaban. Perhaps he had hoped for the Dementors’ kiss, an end ...? Ah no, he must have known they wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily. Not Scrimgeour, not Crouch, who is now Governor of Azkaban ...

The trial being over, Hagrid feels more sad and bewildered than ever. During the trial, he had the absurd idea of tearing away the chains binding Snape, taking the man into his arms and run. He is surprised that his feelings for the Potions Master are that strong. Having known Severus Snape for almost thirty years now, actually he has hardly ever spoken to the man, either during Snape’s years as a student at Hogwarts or after his return as a teacher. The grown-up Snape has been a nightmare for the younger students; the older ones hated and feared him, and his colleagues – except Professors Dumbledore, Lupin, and McGonagall – avoided him. His cold, arrogant manners and snide remarks have constantly discouraged every attempt at friendliness, let alone closeness or friendship. Hagrid does not know why he has tried again and again over the years to be friendly to Severus Snape, but he does not really care. It is his nature. And, strange as it may be, he is convinced Snape deserves a bit of consideration. During the last year, he had even been a bit less inaccessible ...

Someone who deals with animals, ferocious or not, has to be patient. And human beings are not that different. Over the years, he has provided Snape with rare plants and other ingredients for his potions. Not that the Potions Master ever asked for them or thanked Hagrid, but he did not refuse them either. 

On one occasion, shortly before that last, fateful term, Hagrid was bitten by one of Aragog’s children. He barely reached Snape’s dungeons. Without a word, the Potions Master opened a drawer, took out a small black stone, pushed it into Hagrid’s mouth and almost force-fed him a glass of water.

“Swallow. Before your throat and chest will be paralysed as well, and you’ll suffocate.”

With effort, Hagrid obeyed, and slowly but steadily he felt how the effect of the spider venom on his body lessened. Snape did not ask how he felt, he burned out, cleaned and dressed the bite on Hagrid’s arm quickly, effectively and without saying a further word. 

Leaning against his desk, arms crossed, face impenetrable, he had waited till Hagrid felt strong enough to get up and leave. Almost as an afterthought, he presented the half-giant with a small bottle. 

“Three drops every day until the bottle is empty. Three drops! Not more.”

Hagrid thanked the Potions Master for his quick help, but Snape had already returned to his desk, where he had been correcting essays. When Hagrid had been at the door, however, the Potions Master had looked up from the papers on his desk once more. 

“The blue mushrooms you brought last week proved very useful,” he remarked.

And now –

There are even more disturbing thoughts, about long, cool fingers effectively dressing his wound, pale, noble features in calm concentration, a mass of black, shiny hair, which does not look greasy at all when seen up close, dark eyes searing him when Snape had looked up. He has been close enough to smell dried herbs, spicy, not unpleasant, to feel the warmth of Snape’s body ...

Hagrid is not accustomed to complicated thoughts and mixed feelings. He mulls matters over for a week and, being unable to regain his peace of mind, he decides he has to talk to someone. But to whom? His first thought is of Professor Dumbledore. He still has not grown accustomed to the Headmaster being gone. Dumbledore has always been there, he had been a teacher at Hogwarts when Hagrid began his first year. But now he is gone for sure. Like so many people Hagrid used to know ...

Not that he would distrust Professor McGonagall, but Minerva has her hands full these days to maintain order at Hogwarts, so the students can be taught properly. Besides, Hagrid thinks he should talk to someone who has been closer to Severus Snape. Not an easy task to find someone these days. The Malfoys have left the country when Lucius managed to get out of Azkaban. Lucius and Narcissa would not even listen to him anyway, because he is not much more than an animal to them. Maybe Draco would listen, he owes his former teacher a lot, but he is somewhere abroad and nobody knows his whereabouts. Harry has been close to Snape, too, in a way. But Harry will not listen either. Besides, he has been sent away by the Order of the Phoenix for a special training. Hermione is preparing for her last exams and therefore cannot be approached. Remains the last of the group of boys around James Potter, called the Marauders, Professor Remus Lupin, reinstalled at Hogwarts as the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. Lupin has kept himself away from the whole press racket around Voldemort’s death and Snape’s arrest and trial. In court, he acted as one of the few witnesses for the Defence, pointing out some facts which spoke in favour of the defendant. He bravely stood his ground against the sharp questions of the judges and the anger of the spectators who were only interested in a quick and harsh sentence.

He seems prepared to listen to Hagrid, although it appears he is a bit at a loss to find out what the half-giant actually wants.

Sitting in the Professor’s study at Hogwarts, Hagrid finds it difficult to talk about the subject. He has tried to prepare, to gather his thoughts, but has not been very successful in his endeavour. After all, he cannot tell Professor Lupin that thinking of Snape’s touch wreaks havoc with his body. It is bad enough that seeing Snape tormented and almost broken at the trial wreaks havoc with his mind. Nervously, he fidgets with his teaspoon, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, a sturdy chair, which nevertheless creaks dangerously under his weight. 

“What did yeh think ‘bout Sev’rus Snape’s trial, Professer?” he finally asks. “An’ people celebratin’ afterwards?”

Lupin sips from his tea and runs a hand through his sandy hair.

“Celebrating the end of a reign of terror is alright,” he answers thoughtfully. “I don’t like celebrating the downfall of a single man, however. Even if this man is – very hard to like and has done things which he should be punished for.”

“Tha’s it!” Hagrid exclaims so loudly it makes Lupin flinch a bit. “Yeh’ve said it so well, Professer. And – “ he falls silent again, staring into his teacup.

“What?” the teacher prompts gently.

Again, Hagrid shifts in his seat, then looks at Lupin.

“They’ve made him take the brunt, because there’s nobody else any more ter get at,” he says. “Yeh know, Professer, I’ve been ter Azkaban fer a short time. T’ was no good. But I’m afraid, Azkaban will be much more terrible fer Sev’rus Snape. I mean, what with – they’ve treated me aright, but I’m sure they can be diff’rent. T’ surely was diff’rent fer Sirius Black. And I’m afraid it’ll be ver’ much more diff’rent fer Sev’rus Snape!”

Lupin apparently begins to get an idea about Hagrid’s thoughts. Knowing the half-giant, he seems not surprised.

“And I’m afraid you are right,” he agrees. “So far, he has not told them everything they want to know, I have heard. But they will not leave him alone, and now Barty Crouch has all the time in the world. No one can resist forever.”

His most hidden fear confirmed, Hagrid is no longer thirsty all of a sudden.

“Yeh mean – they’ll – beat him, starve him an’ whatever?” he asks. “Is that allowed?”

“I’m afraid so. Yes, to your first question. As to the second one: Who would care much about a convicted murderer?”

“And I was jes thinkin’ I’ve perhaps been upset fer nothing,” Hagrid says, nodding slowly. 

He appears calm, but Lupin knows him well enough to see that he fights hard for it. “I‘d care, yeh see. But if yeh see it that way too, Professer – Is there anythin’ we could do about it?”

Lupin sighs. He has thought about that himself, and somehow he is glad to have found an ally. Though the means and ways he can suggest will be strange to Hagrid. Better to show him these ways, however, before the gamekeeper will do anything foolish ...

“Not much. Pester the Ministry of Defence Against the Dark Arts and the Governor of Azkaban with letters. Try to win over some influential members of the Order of the Phoenix – If the Minister doesn’t rein him in, it will at least show Crouch that the public is watching him, and that not everyone applauds his ‘scientific methods’.” Lupin sounds bitter.

“Sounds difficult ter me.” Hagrid shakes his large head.

//He’s saying tha’ in fact we can’t do much more than sit there and hope fer a little bit of mercy from the Gov’ner and the Minister ...//

“It will be difficult. And it might take long,” Remus Lupin confirms.

Hagrid swallows. 

“He may be a murderer, and perhaps he’s really evil, but I don’t want him ter suffer,” he says.

“Nor do I,” Lupin answers.

And so a bond is formed. Professor Lupin sets up letters to the Ministry, to the Governor of Azkaban, the Honourable Mr Bartimeus Crouch, to influential wizards in good standing. Part of them he writes himself, some of them are written by Hagrid, they involve Tonks and Hermione in their plans, also Minerva McGonagall. Most of their letters are ignored, very few answered at all, either in harsh denial of what they ask for, or in polite, noncommitting regret. Lupin tries to bring up the subject in meetings of the Order, is rebuked harshly, tries again. 

Hagrid tries to keep calm, he tries not to think about what they might do to Snape, because this doesn’t help anybody. Sometimes he convinces himself that perhaps Severus has told them what they want to hear, and maybe they’ll leave him alone; but then he knows this is not how it is. Sometimes he thinks everything they try is in vain, and sometimes he hopes with every letter that they will grant at least Lupin the permission to see Snape.

And one day ...

*****  
“Bartimeus Crouch Resigns as the Governor of Azkaban!” 

the headline proclaims. Hagrid hasn’t gotten to reading the paper properly yet. He looks up from mending a Thestrals’ harness when there is a knock at the door of his hut. Lupin looks in, and Hagrid puts the harness aside to prepare some tea.

“I’ve got news, Rubeus.” Lupin says. He looks serious and exhausted.

“Yes?” Hagrid’s hand trembles slightly when he puts the kettle on. He doesn’t like at all how Lupin looks at him.

//Merlin, please don’t let him be ... Jes’ now, when ...//

He looks at the paper on the table. 

“Haven’t read the paper properly yet, but I’m not sure I want ter anyway,” he mumbles. 

“Ares Irons will be the new Governor of Azkaban,” Lupin says.

“Meanin’ what?”

Hands still unsteady, Hagrid fidgets with the teapot and the crockery. His visitor throws him a worried look. He goes over to the half-giant who is looking out of the window now, apparently watching the dusk and the autumn leaves whirled about by strong gusts of wind, and puts a comforting hand on his upper arm. Hagrid looks at him.

“He’s dead, ain’t he? Sev’rus ...” 

“No! Sorry to have startled you, Rubeus. He is not well, but alive.”

“Yeh would hear about it, if he’d – ?“ Hagrid does not finish his sentence. “And yeh wouldn’t have told me ‘bout this new Guv’ner, if he -?” the half-giant tries again. 

“I have my sources for information, “ Lupin assures him. “I would have told you.”

Hagrid clears his throat, goes over to the fire and occupies himself with the kettle and the teapot.

“I’m a bit easily spooked these days, Professer, but don’t yeh mind. It’s jes, after three ‘n a half years, and not a word from anyone, I –“ Again, he does not finish his sentence. 

“I’m sorry,” Lupin repeats.

“Yeh know, I’ve thought about it. T’ wouldn’t be the worst thing ter be dead. I mean, instead of havin’ ter be there in Azkaban, day after day. Yeh say he’s not well? What did they do ter him ev’ry day?”

“I have heard that Crouch tried a lot to make him talk,” Lupin answers, keeping his words vague on purpose, but Hagrid is not to be fooled.

“There are ways ter go away, even from Azkaban,” he says, pouring the tea. “Have yeh heard anything about whether he’s – still got his wits about him?”

“Nothing to the contrary, anyway,” his visitor answers. “And Ares Irons in the position of Governor of Azkaban is good news, Rubeus.”

“If yeh say so, Professer.” Hagrid sighs. “Don’t know the name or the man. Never heard o’ him. Is he a good man?”

“He has done a lot of work for the Order,” Lupin answers. “It’s the first time for him to take a public position. He’s still young. A hard, strict, but very just man, who will not tolerate certain prisoners being singled out for especially hard treatment. Crouch went too far in that direction.”

Hagrid breathes deeply. 

“A good think fer sure, if the new Guv’ner ‘d be able ter change that.”

Lupin smiles grimly.

“You should apply again for permission to visit the convict Severus Snape at Azkaban.”

 

*****  
“In reply to your letter of October 26th we inform you that you are to report at Azkaban Prison on January 17th, eleven hours sharp. Present this letter at the gates.  
Ares Irons,  
Governor”

On receiving the letter, Hagrid immediately has visited Professor Lupin in his study at Hogwarts. 

“Sounds as if he wants ter arrest me jes’ fer askin’ ter visit Professer Snape.” His voice is doubtful. “And he doesn’t say a word about whether I’ll actually be goin’ ter see him. “

“It’s a matter of security,” Lupin assures him. “You are not related, and so far, Severus Snape has not been allowed any visitors.”

“I’m afraid,” Hagrid admits. “I’m afraid I could be ter late, afraid of what I may see.”

Lupin gives back the letter, taking the half-giant’s hand with both of his own. 

“You’ve fought for this for almost four years, Hagrid. I can imagine how you must feel, though.”

“Not that it would ever keep me back from seeing Sev’rus –“ Hagrid stops, suddenly feeling he would say too much. Lupin has never asked him why he feels so strongly for Snape, and if he’d go on now, Lupin might ask, and Hagrid is afraid his answer will strain the Professor’s understanding and patience too much. Maybe Lupin understands anyway. He ignores Hagrid’s unfinished sentence.

“Good luck,” is all he says.

 

*****  
“Rubeus Hagrid, gamekeeper and part-time teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“Yes, Sir,” Hagrid answers, though the Governor’s words have been a statement, not a question. 

Ares Irons is tall for a human, with dark brown hair he wears at shoulder length. His sharp, noble features, bright green eyes and slender, yet well-muscled body give him something predatory, an impression which cannot be concealed by the nondescript grey Muggle suit he wears. Hagrid thinks that his name is fitting. There is something of a warrior with iron strength about the man.

“You have come to visit the prisoner Severus Snape,” Irons continues.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Why?” the Governor shoots the question at Hagrid, but the half-giant is prepared.

“Well, he’s been a teacher at Hogwarts fer some years, and he’s been a student there before that,” he answers in his slow, calm way. “Yeh see, Sir, I’ve known him since his student days, and it’s not out of sight, out of mind with me.”

The Governor circles Hagrid, assessing him like a panther might assess his prey before the kill. He looks regal, as if coming from one of the oldest families of wizards. The papers have made a lot of the fact that he is the descendant of an old family. Of Muggles. And a foreigner.

“I’m not given to believing in innocent motives,” he says sharply, giving the half-giant another hard look.

Hagrid does not flinch, and apparently this is not lost on the Governor. 

“It seems as if some people have tried to solve the enigma that is Severus Snape.” At least he sounds less suspicious towards Hagrid now. Is there a hint of disgust in his voice? “The prisoner was in a bad state when I took over here, as were some others. He is better now, but probably a far distance away from the man you have come to know. Just a warning, Mr Hagrid.”

//Merlin beware, Professer Lupin was right! They’ve tampered with his mind and whatnot –//

Aloud he says: “That will not frighten me away, Sir. So – may I see him then?”

The Governor nods, apparently satisfied with Hagrid’s answer. He summons two burly guards.

“Bring the prisoner Severus Snape to the visitor room,” he orders one of them. The guard salutes and leaves the office. Irons orders the other guard to go with Hagrid.

“Thank you, Sir,” the half-giant says before he leaves.

“Half an hour,” the Governor orders.

 

*****  
Cold stone corridors, dark and damp, without any doors or windows, lit only by torches along the walls. Hagrid is half expecting to meet a Dementor, but most probably they are concentrated around the cell blocks.

The visitor room is only marginally brighter than the corridors, but at least it has a window, high up in one of the walls, secured with strong bars.

Hagrid is led in, and searched by the guard on duty, although he has already been subjected to this procedure before being admitted to the Governor.

“You’re not allowed to touch the prisoner or hand him anything, nor to accept anything from him. A guard will be present during your visit to enforce these orders, if necessary,” he is instructed by the guard in a tone which conveys no emotion.

//It’s all made ter frighten pris’ners and visiters alike,// Hagrid thinks. //Even without them Dementors, yeh’ll become sad and afraid and yeh loose yer courage. But I’m not ter be frightened that easily – Have waited too long fer this -//

Heavy steps from the corridor, and the clanking of chains. From his own short imprisonment in Azkaban, Hagrid knows these sounds. Being released, he managed to forget, but now, with these sounds, everything comes back.

//No time fer this,// he commands himself. //Yeh’re goin’ ter see the Professer – Sev’rus ...//

The door opens and two guards lead the prisoner in. Hagrid’s first impression gives him relief. The prisoner walks on his own, and he seems to have all of his limbs. At first glance, he does not look too bad, even. It seems as if the Governor has given order to treat him well. Before Irons took over, however, the treatment must have been bad, because Severus Snape is horribly thin, a fact which the long grey shirt he is wearing cannot hide. Snape’s hair is still black, but there are hints of grey now. It is cut the way he has worn it during his days at Hogwarts, he is clean-shaven, which makes his face even more skull-like.

//He’s so thin ...//

The prisoner sits down in a chair, lets the guard fasten his chains. He appears like a mechanical doll, without a will of his own, without any interest in his surroundings, the guards, or his visitor.

//Merlin forbid – he’s like Neville’s poor parents – they’ve tortured him outta his mind ... No, please no!//

Hagrid pulls himself together, not to go over to the prisoner’s chair, to touch the man’s hand, his face, to wake him from his stupor. He clears his throat instead. 

“Morning, Professer Snape,” he says tentatively. “Remember me? Ole Hagrid? I’ve come ter visit yeh.”

No reaction from the prisoner. He seems to be in a world of his own, completely unaware of what is happening around him. 

//Oh no, Sev’rus, what did they do ter yeh? I must stay calm ...//

“Professer Snape? Sev’rus?” he tries again.

//So thin – and his poor bare feet must be cold on that stones – there’s scars around his ankles and wrists, but no fresh chafing -//

Hagrid would like to cry. He would like to close the emaciated prisoner into his arms, to take him away, to bring him back with his tears and kisses, to protect him against everyone who would try to harm him. Instead, he stands there, not daring to touch Severus, for fear he would never be allowed to see him again, should he do so. He forces himself to smile.

“T’has been a long time,” he chats on. “Wot’cher know, I’m still the gamekeeper at Hogwarts. Remember that potion yeh made fer me when I had that chest trouble, lemme see – ‘bout six years ago now? Me coughin’ and coughin’ away? And yeh askin’ me ter yer rooms and givin’ me that potion? Or the potion when one of Aragog’s children had bitten me? And how yeh treated the bite?”

Without realising what he is doing, he kneels down next to the emaciated man in chains.

“Get up!” the guard orders. “You’re too close to the prisoner.” Hagrid does not even hear him.

“Sev’rus,” he tries again, “Do yeh remember Hogwarts? Yeh used ter teach Potions there. Remember Neville Longbottom, who used ter explode his cauldrons all the time? He’s finished Hogwarts, and he’s working with Scrubbs now, who grows magical plants. Best supplier if there ever was one. And he’s talking highly of Neville, he is –“

“That’s enough,” the guard tries again. 

It may have been the sharp voice of the guard, or it may have been the gamekeeper’s urgent pleading – but the prisoner turns his head to Hagrid, who is still kneeling beside his chair. The dark eyes focus for a moment on the kneeling half-giant. It is the same look, the same expression on the gaunt, wasted face Hagrid has only seen once: Not wary, full of mistrust, haughty, forbidding or full of contempt; but open, curious, interested, like the boy who looked at the ceiling reflecting the night sky on his first evening at Hogwarts. It is only for a moment, and Hagrid does not dare to think Snape has recognised him. Then the empty look at nothing returns to the prisoner’s eyes, and his face becomes blank again.

“Time is up!” the guard states.

Slowly, Hagrid rises from his knees by the prisoner’s chair, enabling the guards to unlock the manacles which fix Snape to his seat. His sad look follows the prisoner, who is more dragged away by the guards than being able to walk. 

“Follow me,” the remaining guard orders the half-giant.

“Will I see him again?” Hagrid asks the guard who escorts him through the damp, dark corridors.

“That’s not for me to decide,” the guard answers curtly. 

“Then I want ter see the Guv’ner again.”

The Governor being a busy man, Hagrid has to wait with some other people in a bare, cheerless room overlooking an inner yard, where deep down, surrounded by high walls, a few prisoners in grey prison garb walk their rounds. They all look the same from above, walking like Inferi, the living dead, raised from their sleep by the blackest magic to perform a horrible task – Hagrid shudders. He is not given to depressing thoughts, but Azkaban gets to him. Sooner or later, Azkaban will break everyone. It has been built for that purpose. Some people might miss the sun, nature, an open view, like Hagrid himself. Other will perhaps miss their loved ones and friends, some might be broken by the lack of luxury even, missing good meals, a comfortable bed. Others again might find it unbearable being deprived of books, papers and scriptures. Or their lack of power, because no magic will ever work at Azkaban. Not to forget the Dementors –

“Rubeus Hagrid!” a guard shouts from the door.

Hastily, Hagrid rises from his end of the bench he has been sitting on, almost catapulting two elderly witches up in the air, who have been sitting at the other end. Muttering an apology in their direction, he follows the guard to the Governor’s office.

Ares Irons stands at the window, which has a view on the same inner yard as the waiting room.

“How did it go?” he asks brusquely.

Hagrid swallows.

“He looked at me once,” he answers.

//What is it ter yeh?// he thinks. //What do yeh want?//

“So you think it might be useful to continue your visits?”

//Useful fer what? Fer whom? What are yeh aiming at?// Hagrid thinks. 

Aloud he says: “Yes, I want ter come back – with yer permission.”

The Governor goes to his desk, takes a quill and a piece of paper and writes a few lines, which he hands to Hagrid.

“Permit. The holder of this document, Rubeus Hagrid, is hereby granted permit to visit prisoner No. 77666321, Severus Snape, once every two weeks for half an hour on Tuesdays, at eleven hours sharp. Given on January 17th ..., Ares Irons, Governor of Azkaban Prison.”

“Thank yeh, Sir!” Hagrid folds the permit safely away into the breast pocket of his shirt.

“From time to time, I will ask you into my office after a visit,” the Governor says, and his eyes forbid every question or protest, so Hagrid leaves without a further word.

 

*****  
The condition under which the permit has been granted worries him, but his happiness about being able to see Severus Snape on a regular basis outweighs his worries. He keeps his misgivings to himself, for the only person to whom he would have mentioned them, Remus Lupin, now has been called away again on a mission involving negotiations with a clan of werewolves. So Hagrid decides to wait and see how things will go.

Dutifully, he presents himself at the gates of Azkaban every second Tuesday, though it hurts him bitterly to see the emaciated shadow of a once brilliant man and powerful wizard. During most of Hagrid’s visits, the prisoner remains oblivious to his surroundings, never giving a sign that he even notices Hagrid or hears a word of what the half-giant says.

 

*****  
I watch. A fugitive in my own mind, I watch. I am no longer sure who I am, where I am, when I am. I watched them whip a bleeding creature, kick and rape him, ask him questions which are never answered. They sic a ferocious dog upon him. I feel his pain and horror. Is it me? What is “me”? They ask again ...

Then they began to tear thoughts out of my brain in silvery strands ... Thoughts I did not know I still had ... Filling rows upon rows with small bottles ... But not that! ... I have forgotten what ... Then the creatures of the darkness – I beseech, implore them to make an end – I want to be extinguished, I do not want to exist any longer, to churn in emptiness. But the creatures withdraw from me – even for them, I no longer provide any nourishment ... So I shall be here forever and ever and ever ...

There is a change. Light. No longer darkness. Other faces, other voices ... what they do to the creature – me? – does not hurt. I know the game. The old “See, we can be friends. If you’re good and tell us what we want to know, we’ll treat you well. We might even let you go.” I know the game. I have played it myself.

Soon, they will grow tired of it, and there will be darkness and pain again. I watch. I wait. 

The faces and voices won’t go away, however. Should I know some of them? There is a giant of a man, sometimes, lots of hair and beard. He talks to me. I don’t understand his words. I listen, though. I listen to his friendly voice. And I see his friendly eyes. He looks sad, his voice sounds worried. Why?

No! No! No! I feel that I begin to play their game, and I cannot help it. I begin to wait for the big man to come again. I know him, but I don’t remember ... I don’t want to remember, but I want to see his friendly eyes, to hear his gentle voice ... Better not look forward to him coming to see me again. This is something I remember ... Happiness is a flighty thing, joy will be spoilt quickly, hopes thwarted easily ... But I cannot help hoping to see him again ...

 

*****  
A year passes. Grieving, Hagrid has made himself familiar with the thought that his visits probably will remain like this until one of them dies: Talking for half an hour every two weeks to the empty shell of a once brilliant man. 

Giving up his visits does never occur to him. He has not given up hope entirely. Once or twice, there has been that curious, wondrous, almost innocent look on the prisoner’s face he has shown on Hagrid’s first visit. That look makes the gamekeeper’s hopes for a response soar again, only to be thwarted by long half-hour visits without any reaction. Sometimes, it even appears to Hagrid as if Severus would recognise him, would want to respond to him, but is held back by something – as if he was not only in Azkaban, but in a prison of his own, a prison he has built for himself long ago, a prison he has dwelt in perhaps since he came to teach at Hogwarts ...

The Governor never asks for Hagrid, and the half-giant hopes the busy man has forgotten about what he said. Or he does not deem it necessary to summon the gamekeeper.

But things are about to change.

 

*****  
On a cold morning in January, Hagrid is brought again to the now familiar visitor room. At first, everything is as usual. The gamekeeper always finds something to talk about to the unresponsive prisoner, something the guards will not take offence at. Mostly he talks about his work, about the seasonal changes in nature, about people Severus Snape has known. At first, he has tried to get a reaction by talking about people the former teacher has not been at cross-purposes with – which are few. Then Hagrid has tried the opposite, has purposely mentioned Neville Longbottom, or Ron Weasley, just to see whether Snape will react on hearing these names. More by accident, he once has even mentioned Harry Potter. The prisoner, however, has never shown any sign of recognising one of the names.

This time, however, the visit is different.

Severus Snape is brought in and bound to the prisoners’ chair as usual. He looks a little less emaciated now, though Hagrid thinks that he resembles a creature which is kept in a too small cage, deprived of any stimulation.

From the moment he sees Hagrid, Snape’s eyes focus on the tall, bearish figure with that curious, almost innocent look this time. Hagrid notices the difference, but he thinks it best to do what he always does. Talk in a friendly manner, as if chatting with Severus down the pub at Hogsmeade.

“It’s been so cold lately, even more than usual in January, would yeh believe it, Professer? The big lake down at Hogwarts has frozen over already,” he begins. “Tha’s the first winter in a long time this has happened, would yeh know? Last time I remember was – wait, lemme think - more than forty years ago. The Headmistress has allowed the students on the ice yesterday, and that was a bustle an’ skating an’ running abou’, I tell yeh! Of course, Argus Filch ‘n I made sure the ice would hold, before any students would be allowed ter go. I mean, if the ice will hold me, it will hold any student –“

He stops, because for the first time in over a year, he gets the impression that Severus is actually listening to what he says. His dark eyes are focused on the half-giant.

“Hagrid,” he whispers, “Rubeus – Hagrid.”

Hagrid jumps up and kneels next to the prisoner’s chair.

“Professer Snape – yeh know who I am!”

“You know the regulations!” the ever-present guard warns, but he does not interfere.

A rush of emotions slides over the prisoner’s emaciated face in rapid succession: Bewilderment, surprise, shame, fear, hatred, terror, despair, giving way to sadness. He bows his head.

“Sev’rus,” Hagrid whispers.

Snape lifts his head again, with pain and sadness in his dark eyes. 

“I – know,” he says. His formerly deep and resonant voice sounds hoarse and rough from disuse. Or screaming?

“Time is up!” the dispassionate guard announces.

//Merlin, jes now ... But I can’t disobey the Guv’ner, he wouldn’t let me visit again ...//

Reluctantly, Hagrid lifts himself up from his knees.

“Have ter go again, Professer, but I’ll be back in two weeks, as usual.” He sighs. “Keep yerself up, Professer, I’ll be doin’ the same! – Will yeh? Please?”

The prisoner looks up at him.

“Yes – I will,” he whispers. The hopelessness in his voice cuts deep into Hagrid’s heart.

“I will be back,” he assures Snape and leaves the room quickly. 

Outside, he wipes his face with both hands. If he dared, he would rage with the fury which is in him from his mother’s blood, and which he rarely feels. He would tear down the walls with his bare hands and take Severus away from this terrible place – he calms himself with a few deep breaths.

“The Governor wants to see you.” 

//Now – of all times ...//

 

The big man has come to talk to me again. It is good to hear his friendly voice, to see his enormous bulk ... I remember having seen him when I was still a child, a student at that school ... He was always there, strong and friendly ... I remember ... When I was a boy, I sometimes wanted to creep into his arms, but of course I could not do that ... Now I remember his name: Rubeus Hagrid.

I must have said the name aloud. He is happy I remember ... There is so much more I remember. It cannot be ... as if every memory they stole from me is poured back into my head all at once – no, no. No! ... So much –

Hagrid is talking to me again. He calls my name ... my name ... I remember ... Severus ... the Strict One – not with hatred or in anger, but as if he cared. I know Hagrid. He cares – cares for every creature – admonishes me to take care. I promise. I want him to come back ... Now they have got me ... They will not allow him to come back, and I’ll be alone as I have always been ... Alone in hell with what I remember ...

Another guard takes over and leads Hagrid away from the visitor room to the Governor’s office. This time he does not have to wait.

Ares Irons paces his office in his panther-like prowl.

//What does he want now?// Hagrid asks himself.

“He recognised you?” The Governor comes right to the point.

//He knows already. How could I not notice? The guards have reported ter him ev’ry time I was there.//

“Yes, Sir.”

Irons interrupts his pacing right in front of Hagrid, his green gaze drilling into the half-giant’s eyes as if to look into his thoughts.

“Your impression: Does he remember other things?”

//Merlin’s Beard, what’s he up ter?// Hagrid thinks. //Looked ter me as if Sev’rus remembered somethin’. What do I say now? If I say no – will they believe me and leave him alone? But what if they leave him alone and he remembers ter much and ...? And if I say yes, will they start on him hurtin’ him again ter find out what they don’t know yet? And that ‘ere Guv’ner – he won’t let me off if I say I don’t know fer sure - //

“I’m waiting!” Irons looks impatient, ready to pounce.

//Maybe they won’t torture him again, maybe they would want me ter gain his trust ter get ter know things they don’t know yet. Would be deceivin’ Sev’rus somehow, but if they’d torture him again -//

“I do not wish him to come to harm.” 

Hagrid stares down at the tall man before him. Did the Governor actually say that?

“What’s it ter yeh?” he asks defiantly, before he can stop himself.

“Sit down,” Ares Irons orders, pointing to a chair in front of his desk.

When Hagrid has obediently lowered his bulk carefully to the chair, Irons himself sits down behind his desk.

“My predecessor tried everything to break Severus Snape.” He lifts a hand, stifling Hagrid’s sound of pain.

“Severus Snape has never been a pleasant man. What they did to him ... I know about enough ways and means to make a prisoner talk. But I would not wish to my worst enemy what Crouch did to Severus Snape.”

/Merlin -// Hagrid sits there, looking at the Governor like a cornered rabbit will look at a dog before it is bitten to death.

“When I took over here, I thought he was dead,” Ares Irons continues. “He was not in the official register of prisoners any more. When my guards found his cell, he was barely alive ...” He stops.

Again, Hagrid gives a strangled sound of pain.

“His body healed, as far as I can tell, but up to now, I believed his mind to be broken.”

Again, Hagrid asks his question aloud.

“What is it ter yeh?”

Briefly, the Governor lowers his gaze to his desk, before looking into Hagrid’s eyes again.

“Severus Snape never was my enemy.”

“I’ve ever heard but a few people say tha’,” Hagrid blurts out before he can stop himself, but Irons does not seem to mind.

“He was my teacher at the Auror Academy. Occlumency. Both he and Albus Dumbledore taught there a few weeks a year. I owe them both a great deal.”

Hagrid nods, but he still looks wary. 

“There is not much left to be found out,” the Governor continues. “I do not intend to use you as a bait to get information out of Severus Snape. My predecessor emptied his mind thought by thought, emotion by emotion, memory by memory. Normally, someone will take out memories and store them in a pensieve of his own free will. But there are ways and means to extract a person’s memories by force. Spells which are more despicable than the Unforgivable Curses. To do this, and then to torture an almost empty shell at Azkaban ... because according to Crouch’s notes of the ‘Questioning Sessions’, there is one secret still hidden in Snape’s mind ... I wish I had found out earlier what Crouch did to him ... I believed he had destroyed his mind ... But to hear that Snape seems to remember again ... I do not know whether I should pity him or be glad for him.”

Hagrid swallows a few times. 

“I wouldn’t know about tha’, Sir. He wouldn’t tell me of all people a secret the Aurors couldn’t get out of him. What I want ter know is: Can he live and get some peace of mind ever again? ”

Ares Irons stands, but waves at Hagrid to remain seated.

“This is what I wish for him. Hence my question.”

“Aright,” Hagrid sighs. “I’m no expert, yeh know, but I’m afraid now tha’ he’s recognised me, he might remember a lot of things more. I've known him as a very strong and brave man, carryin’ his burdens always fer himself, but now –“

“I have heard people say he had no conscience. I believe he has,” Irons says “And the gentle, friendly Albus Dumbledore was a relentless taskmaster.”

Hagrid remembers Snape’s words he overheard: “I cannot go on with this. You take too much for granted,” and he agrees with the Governor. 

He stands as well.

“Could I – could I go on with me visits? Maybe he’d like ter see someone he knows from old times from time ter time. – I mean – yeh can always put a stop ter it, if it’d upset him ter much...”

Ares Irons looks at the half-giant, estimating, assessing.

“You’re a good person, Hagrid. Leave now. Come back next week.”

 

*****  
“He’s in sickbay,” are the Governor’s first words when Hagrid presents himself at Azkaban again a week later. “He relives his memories, as I feared.”

“Can I see him?” Hagrid has been worried all week. He has been afraid something like that would happen. And he doesn’t like at all being called to the Governor’s office as soon as he has arrived.

“Ten minutes,” Ares Irons says. “I’ve given order to the Healer to let you see him. But if he orders you to leave, you will.”

Hagrid follows a guard through another maze of damp, cold corridors to the sickbay. He is deeply worried.

//Maybe I should never have come at all,// he thinks. //Maybe ‘t would’ve been better fer Sev’rus ...//

The Healer is a small, birdlike wizard, almost completely bald, answering to the fitting name of Hippocrates Potts. Hagrid remembers him vaguely from his days at Hogwarts, and the Healer remembers him as well.

“Frankly, Hagrid, I’m at a loss what to do. He refuses to eat or drink anything. We use Muggle medicine to take him out and to give his body some nourishment. When he’s not sedated, he’s reliving one of his memories. I wouldn’t have thought a single person could have that many horrible memories, Hagrid! Now for how long shall this go on? It’s been only a week, and I’m already asking that question. I’ve seen some bad things during my years as a healer at Azkaban, and believe me, I’m not squeamish!”

Hagrid swallows.

“Aright then, it’s bad. I get tha’ much. Now, may I see him?”

Potts scratches his bald head.

“If I was the man to give the orders here, I wouldn’t. But the Governor ordered me to let you see him, so –“

He leads Hagrid to a door with a lot of bars and locks, which he painstakingly opens one by one. They enter a small prison cell, just big enough to hold a narrow bed with a straw-filled mattress, a pillow and blankets, a small nightstand and an iron rack like a small tree, on which two bags are hung like strange fruit. They are filled with a colourless fluid, and narrow tubes connect them to the arms of the prone figure in the bed. This must be the Muggle potions. To think that Severus Snape, the Potions Master, is treated with Muggle potions ...

The patient’s eyes are half closed, he is squinting against a ray of light from the barred window high up in the wall. His head moves restlessly from side to side, as if to escape the light, which seems to pain him. He is straining against the short chains which fasten his wrists and ankles to the bedposts.

“No,” he says. “It’s enough. I say you’ve won.”

“See? Here we go again,” Potts comments. “It’s been like this day after day. The Muggle medicines don’t help much, I’m afraid.”

“What’re you doing?” Snape’s voice becomes louder, his efforts to free himself from the chains stronger. “No! Let me go!” Had his first sentences still borne some arrogance and the anger of being bested, there is now a hint of panic in his voice.

“No, not like this, Black, please! Listen, I said please! Don’t –“ the sentence drowns in a broken scream, and Snape’s eyes open wide, not seeing Hagrid’s and Potts’s shocked faces, but that of his tormentor from the past. Snape’s body bucks up against the restraining chains, then he goes limp, his face mirroring the shock and disbelief about what he is reliving.

“Snape?” Potts addresses him tentatively.

The prisoner closes his eyes.

“Bastard!” he whispers. “Bastard! – I’ll get you, swine!” 

“Still far out,” the Healer comments, but Hagrid motions him to be silent. He has heard these words before, almost thirty years ago, on a cold autumn night, when he had stumbled upon Severus at the lake.

The emaciated figure on the bed tries to sit up. Restrained by the chains, he falls back and begins to spout curses, the curses Hagrid heard from the youth that night.

“That’s really bad,” Potts says. “It’s getting worse. Thanks to Merlin at least no magic will ever work in here. They have good protection spells which are renewed at a regular basis –“

Snape goes limp again, his face, distorted by hatred before, takes on that hurt, uncomprehending look once more.

“Why?” he whispers. “Why do I have to be Snivellus? – Maybe that’s all Snivellus will ever get –“

“Sev’rus,” without thinking about it, Hagrid kneels down beside the bed, stroking back Snape’s tousled hair from his face.

“No! Let me go, you dirty bastard!”

“Sev’rus, it’s me, Hagrid!”

Snape gives a strangled cry and tries to free himself from the chains. 

“Get away from me!”

“It’s hopeless.” Potts shifts uneasily from one foot to the other. “You see how it is, and why we keep him isolated. He often screams terribly and drives everybody crazy.”

Hagrid ignores him.

“Sev’rus,” he tries again.

Snape strives to evade Hagrid’s touch, eyes closed. 

“Sectumsempra!” he hisses.

Something pushes Hagrid back, he stumbles.

“What was that?!” Frightened and unable to determine what to do, the Healer seeks shelter behind Hagrid, who has caught himself quickly.

“Somethin’ very bad,” the half-giant answers between clenched teeth. “We’re really lucky no magic’ll work in here. – Take off his chains.”

“What?!” The Healer shoots forward, glaring at the gamekeeper. “Are you mad? Who are you to give orders here?!”

“Yeh heard me, Hippocrates,” Hagrid throws over his shoulder. He is stroking Snape’s hair again with gentle fingers. “Take off his chains.”

“Why the hell should I?!”

“Yeh’re the Healer, Hippocrates, but I think it’s the chains that drive him crazy. It’s like with an Oriental Firebreather. Yeh can’t keep ‘em chained.”

He looks over his shoulder at Potts. 

“Please. He’ll break his bones and hurt himself with that Muggle medicine thing. I can restrain him easily without him bein’ hurt should it be necessary.”

Potts sighs. He looks at the prisoner who is still fighting against his chains, writhing in obvious agony.

“Oh very well! Let’s see what happens! But I wash my hands of it!”

He fumbles with a bunch of keys at his belt and opens the locks on the manacles holding Snape to the bed. No longer restrained, the prisoner stands shakily, in the process tearing the needles that connect him to the small tubes of the Muggle device out of his arms. The rack topples over and crashes to the floor. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

“You’ll see what Snivellus can do,” he whispers and begins to sob. 

“There goes that expensive Muggle device!” Potts wails. 

“Thanks fer gettin’ off his chains, Hippocrates. Now be quiet.” 

“Wha -?” No one who knows Hagrid would ever think the gentle half-giant could give an order to someone. 

“I mean it, Hippocrates.”

One more look at the gamekeeper looming menacingly over him makes Potts realise that he’d better comply, because Hagrid will not hesitate to throw him out the door, should he object. So he quietly retreats into a corner of the cell, anxiously watching the prisoner and the half-giant. 

Snape stands near the wall, shaking and sobbing. He wipes his face with both hands, sniffling. Hagrid stands in front of him.

“Sev’rus,” he repeats softly. “What happened ter yeh, boy?”

Snape retreats backwards until his back touches the wall. He looks up, his dark eyes wary. 

Hagrid remains where he is standing, does not attempt to close the distance between them. Gently, he repeats Snape’s first name. 

Suddenly the man throws himself forward into the half-giant’s arms, clinging to him, burying his face at Hagrid’s chest. Hagrid holds him gently, his huge hands stroking Severus’s hair. He seems oblivious of where he is, seems to have forgotten the Healer, who still eyes the pair warily. There is only Severus Snape in his arms, wasted, thin, not in his right mind at the moment, but in his arms. And he is not struggling against the half-giant’s embrace, slowly calming down.

Through the thin fabric of the long shirt Severus is wearing, Hagrid can feel a few places where bones must have been broken and healed together without being set properly. The shirt has fallen away from one of Severus’s shoulders, and on the exposed flesh Hagrid sees scars. Criss-crossing lashes from more than one whipping. Bite marks as well. Some of them are human in shape and size, some are not. Were they fresh wounds and not scars, the half-giant would kill someone with his bare hands. But seeing they are old, he tries to stay calm.

After a while, Potts leaves the cell, posting a guard in front of the door. Hagrid takes no notice. The man in his arms has fallen into an exhausted sleep. 

//No one’s orderin’ me ter get out, so I’ll stay,// the gamekeeper thinks. // What in Merlin’s name ‘s that all abou’? What happened? He called a name: Black. If ‘t’ was what I think, ‘t’ was a dastardly thing of Sirius Black ter do – And what have they done ter Sev’rus here? What creature have they set upon him?//

 

Someone like me shouldn’t feel anything. They treat me as if I couldn’t hear anyway, talking loudly about my large nose, my dirty hair and my shabby robe when I am standing next to them. I tell myself that they are just idiots, and the girls are stupid geese, full of themselves, of their own vanity. I hate them all. I do most of the time. Wish I could make that bastard Potter, that Dogboy and their two cronies feel for one day what it is like to be ugly Snivellus Snape everybody thinks he can make fun of, beat up, or push around. Haven’t found a spell yet, to show them. Or perhaps a potion? Yes, I am mean. But I’ve got to fight back somehow. 

Sometimes I wish deep inside I could be friends with them. Or with someone else. Anyone. Just to feel what it’s like not to be alone, to belong somewhere. Since my mother died and the drunken bastard broke his neck a year later, I don’t belong anywhere. I’m in Dumbledore’s care, for what good it may do. Next year I’ll be seventeen and I won’t have to answer to anyone any more. 

No one likes me, and I like no one. Friendship? Go away! A friendly word? Leave me alone! Just an “It wasn’t right to beat up Mr Snape, Mr Potter. Ten points off for Gryffindor,” from Dumbledore. That would suffice. But no such luck for Snivellus.

Deep, deep inside – I could never tell anyone, never write it down even, but deep inside – Sometimes at night I get up and hide in an empty closet no one ever uses. I touch myself, and I imagine Sirius watching me. Not disgusted, not mocking. He admires what I do. He wants to touch me, and I let him. I touch him, too. We become friends ... I’ve seen it in this cursed mirror, the mirror showing you what you will never have ... I tried to break it with a stone, then with a spell, but to no avail ...

Ha! Forget it, Snivellus! How could he know, the bastard? How? I did a cleaning spell every time, and a protection spell against a dog’s sharp senses. Hell, he couldn’t know! He just did it because he hates me. A male dog will jump another dog just to show who’s master ... It was just that dirty talk from Potter about getting my pants off. But who would have known Dogboy hated me that much? I know he is like me, he’s not into girls like Potter or Lupin – I could see it in his head, but only when it was too late...

I was thinking about Slughorn’s homework, otherwise I would have noticed that Dogboy was around. Alone, without his cronies. Strange. 

Because I didn’t pay attention he could ambush me and do the Impedimenta. I have to learn to cast spells without that silly wand-waving ... Why, why is he so violent? Curses me with the Petrificus Totalus, damn coward, and rams his thing into me? I would have done it with you of my own free will, idiot, for a little stroking and touching, opening me up with your fingers. You know that, Black? ... It hurts so much ... And what hurts the most is that you hate me, more than Potter, Lupin or Pettigrew hate me. Why, why, you damned Bastard? Isn’t it enough you, you of all people make a point of wiping your hands on your robe when you’ve pushed me, or – Merlin forbid! – my robe touches yours, so that the stupidest Hufflepuff can see that you are disgusted of me? That hurts, asshole! What did I do to you? Nothing much, so far. Dream of you? Yes, it was only a dream, a dream no one knew about! Damn you! Every curse I can think of I’ll try on you, when I’ll get you ...! So that’s what Snivellus gets ... Why does it hurt so much? 

When you finally were finished with me, ran away and the spell worked off, I wanted to creep away and hide somewhere to cry. Can’t go to anyone. Who would understand? Maybe the big gamekeeper? He’s friendly to everyone. Even to me. I try to be nasty to him, but, somehow, it’s a waste of time ... Maybe he would even like me ... that way ...

But no, not even him can I tell what happened. He would want to know, though, if I went to see him ... and Dumbledore? He would turn it again so that nothing would besmirch one of his precious Gryffindors, curse him! No help anywhere, curse you all! You feel so high and mighty, and you’re always so right and so good, compared to me, the slimy Slytherin! I hate you! I’d like to destroy Hogwarts, let the whole damn school perish in fire, with everybody in it! Damn you all! I’ll show you ...! 

Calm down ... calm down ... Go back and tell no one. Only Black and I know .. And it’s nothing he’ll boast about, I’m sure of that ... It’s nothing to be proud of ... Even Dogboy will realise that ... But I won’t forget ... If he comes close to me again, I’ll know a few special spells ... Have to calm down ...

What – What is this? I’m not at the lake, but Hagrid is here. He talks to me. His voice is deep and gentle. I wish I could lean onto him, just a little ... That would be good ... I look for words to make him go away, but words fail me. They don’t matter anyway...

I’m in his arms, and he doesn’t push me away, he holds me, me, the Greasy Git, and no one in the world will be able to harm me. He smells of smoke, gin and tobacco – he is very strong, no one will dare to call me names as long as he is holding me. I’m ashamed that I cling to him and cry, but he doesn’t seem to mind ... It feels so good ... I am tired. So very tired ...

 

*****  
A few hours later, Snape wakes up, still in Hagrid’s arms. No one has disturbed them, ordering Hagrid to leave.

The Potions Master looks up into the friendly bearded face above him, his eyes clear. His look is more surprised than hostile, and when he frees himself from Hagrid’s arms, it seems as if he does so reluctantly.

Hagrid is led to the Governor’s office again. It has taken a while for him to leave Severus, when a friendly guard finally looked in. Now he expects an angry outbreak from Irons, because he has disobeyed his orders. He fears that the Governor will withdraw his visiting permit. All Irons says, however, is:

“Come back on Thursday.”

 

I woke up in your arms. I slept, comforted and sheltered. A rare occasion in my life. When did I feel protected and comforted for the last time? Once or twice in Lucius’s arms, at the beginning ... And even then I knew it was a lie. I knew he petted a creature starved for a little bit of affection, because he knew I would help him to pass his examinations, to finish school. It is easy to get what you want from someone who is hungry for a little gentleness, a touch which is not a push or a blow ... Possibly even then Voldemort had spun his nets, first catching Malfoy, then finding me useful as well ... It was a lie, but I did not mind. We were both Slytherins, and Slytherins do not know much about true friendship and loyalty, everybody knows that. So we became both Death Eaters ... Only later I should learn that there really is such a thing as true friendship ... Learn from Albus Dumbledore ...

You, too, know about loyalty, Hagrid. Maybe I never gave you an actual reason to hate me, and your nature is friendly and gentle. But why did you hold me in your arms? Pity? Pity hurts almost as much as being laughed at and being beaten up. Lily Evans pitied me, but I made her stop quickly ... Yes, I am mean. She did not want to hurt me, but she did anyway, and I wanted her to stop ...

So many memories ... I cling to the ones from my youth, to avoid thinking of the later horrors ... But they haunt me anyway, flood my thoughts ... What Black did was nothing against what I did later, and what I got back in return ... I gave my Unbreakable Vow to protect Lucius’s son from becoming like his father. Not because you begged me, Narcissa ... Why don’t I just give up and drown in my memories? It would be much too easy ...

 

*****  
On Thursday, Snape presents a composed, unreadable face. It is hard to determine whether he is glad to see Hagrid or not. His eyes are clear, but nightmares and torment are hidden behind his mask.

“The children,” he asks after a while. “The Slytherins ...?” 

Hagrid is a little surprised. He would not have expected Snape to ask about his students. It pleases him.

“The Headmistress watches over them as she does over the others. It’s not allowed ter harass someone jes’ because he’s a Slytherin.”

“But it happens.” Snape states.

Hagrid sighs.

“Yeh know how it is, Professer, but Professer McGonagall tries ter bring out the best in ev’ry student. She encourages the houses ter work tergether a lot, not against each other.”

Snape acknowledges this information with a bow of his head.

“Who is Head of Slytherin?” he asks on.

“Abraham Crane.”

Snape nods again.

“Crane’s a Potions Master,” he says. “Does he teach Potions?”

“Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Hagrid mutters.“’T was Professer Lupin before, but then he gave up the position, ‘cause he was sent away fer an assignment.” He is glad that Snape asks so much and seems firmly rooted in the here and now, but he is aware of walking on thin ice.

“Um – and yesterday they appointed him as Head of Gryffindor.”

“I see,” Snape says slowly. “And who teaches Potions?”

No escape. Hagrid blows his nose diligently and clears his throat.

“Alberich Cuthwell.”

A snort from Snape. For a moment, there is even a hint of wry amusement in his eyes.

 

*****  
There are more visits like this one. Snape is clear and appears composed, but behind the unreadable mask and the light conversation, Hagrid always senses despair and torment.

//He’s keepin’ his inner demons at bay. Merlin knows, he must have lots o’ them. He has always been fightin’ alone ... Wish he’d know that I’d like ter help him bear his load, but ...//

 

*****  
Three months later, Hagrid is called to the Governor’s office again. He never likes being called there, because he knows that even if Ares Irons approves of him visiting Severus Snape, a ministry official can put a stop to the visits with one word and a signature under a document. And he does not like the document bearing the seal of the Ministry of Defence Against the Dark Arts on the Governor’s desk.

“Today will be your last visit, Hagrid.” As usual, Irons does not waste many words.

//Well, it had ter be expected. Jes’ when things get a little better with him ...//

“The prisoner Severus Snape has been informed this morning that his verdict has been changed.” Irons stands half turned to the window, a dark silhouette against the brighter rectangle. 

//No. Before the Dementors get ter him, they’ll first have ter get ter me!//

Irons turns to Hagrid. His green predatory eyes take in the gamekeeper, and if this was not Azkaban, Hagrid would believe that the Governor is reading his thoughts.

“His verdict has been changed to lifelong banishment,” he continues.

Hagrid opens his mouth to finally say something, but Ares Irons silences him by lifting his hand.

“I thought you should know, Hagrid,” he says. “There is an island far out in the Baltic Sea, the Nameless Island. A small colony of former prisoners of Azkaban live there, some with their families. At the hospital there, they could do with a Potions Master.”

“May I use yer visiters’ chair fer a moment, Sir?” Hagrid asks. “I’m afraid me head ‘s reeling a bit. Yeh’re not havin’ me on, have yeh?” 

For a moment, the Governor looks ready to jump at Hagrid in bestial form. Then he nods at the gamekeeper to take a seat.

“Sorry, Sir,” Hagrid says as he slowly and carefully lets himself down on the chair. “Shouldn’t ‘ve said that.”

//So they will bring Sev’rus to this island, where other former pris’ners live. Maybe someone’s there who knows him and is not friendly ... On the other hand: they’re not behind bars there. Some have their families with them. They can work there and move around freely. The hospital needs a Potions Master ... Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad ...//

“The island is rough and wild, full of dangerous animals, and the colony but small,” Irons adds.

A thought forms in Hagrid’s head. 

//Perhaps they’d have use fer a gamekeeper there as well ... Maybe if a pris’ner doesn’t have a family, a friend could go with him?//

 

*****  
“You are quiet today, Hagrid,” Snape observes. They are “outdoors”, walking up and down in a small square with a guard in every corner, Snape in chains which clank on the stones as he slowly walks next to the half-giant. He is still much too thin and deadly pale, but he seems to enjoy the few rays of sun which fall into the square.

Hagrid does not know what to say. His head is still spinning from the news the Governor told him.

 

Someone must have informed him that there will be no visits to me anymore. This is why he is so silent. Because I shall be gone soon ... One way or the other. I am no coward, this is why I am still alive. But I don’t know whether I’d be able to live at Nameless Island ... Part of me wants to live, to be able to make potions again ... Perhaps to atone for what I have done? Or perhaps a sure-fire cure for my nightmares, my guilt, the ghosts from the past? I have never been a coward, though, never sought the easy way out. But leaving Hagrid behind makes it harder ... I have come to looking forward to his visits ... I’ll miss him ... This makes everything more difficult, because in the end I’ll always be alone ...

So I might as well ask him why he has come to see me ... Then I’ll hurt him deeply like I hurt Lily Evans. This will make things easier for us both. It will be better if he hates me, like the others ...

 

“Why did you come at all, Rubeus?” Snape suddenly snaps at Hagrid. “Why did you visit me? Why did you make me want to live? To see another day, damn you?!” His dark eyes search Hagrid’s face.

For a moment, the half-giant is surprised, then he begins to understand. //He asks that question ‘cause we won’t see each other again,// he thinks. //He’d never have asked otherwise.//

Snape’s eyes burn into him.

“Answer me, you big stupid oaf!” he hisses, when Hagrid still does not say a word.

//He’s trying ter hurt me, ‘cause he likes me visits ... They mean something ter him ...//

“Didn’t you know this would happen?!” Snape continues. “I don’t blame you, Rubeus, you didn’t know in your simple mind, you wanted to do something good, but your visits robbed me of anger and gave me despair. I can take loath and abuse, I have grown accustomed to these, but gentleness ... You, of all people, should know, Rubeus, that there are creatures you better do not treat friendly ... But you don’t know, you don’t know, because –“

“- ’Cause I love yeh, Sev’rus.” If Hagrid has been unable to find words for what he feels for Severus Snape so far, now he has found them. 

 

He is mocking me! He must be mocking me. No one would say these words to me. Ever. Not even a half-giant who cares for venomous giant spiders and fire-breathing dragons ... Why, why does it hurt so much? Why ...? Because I know that he speaks the truth? Because it is clearly written all over his honest face ...? Someone loves me? Me? It’s almost worse than the Cruciatus ... Why does it hurt so much ...?

 

Snape recoils as if he had received a blow. His face contorts in pain, then hatred and anger. Hagrid can see that he is searching for a cutting remark, because his face takes on a haughty expression. Behind that expression, however, Hagrid sees the human being starved for a little friendliness, wary because of all the kicks and blows he had received over the years instead. The Potions Master gives a strangled sound and turns his back to the half-giant.

//Seems ter much fer him. Should’ve kept me big mouth shut, but ...//

Carefully, Hagrid touches one of Snape’s shoulders. 

“Sev’rus?”

Snape flinches and gives a shuddering sigh. But he turns around and faces the gamekeeper again.

“I don’t understand why,” he spits, “Why would someone like you waste his precious time on me, who helped torture and kill Muggles and wizards alike, women and children?! Who was Malfoy’s and Voldemort’s whore?! Who killed the only man who ever offered him a new life and – and true friendship?!”

Hagrid shakes his big head.

“I love yeh, Sev’rus. I love a brave man who’s lived a dangerous life.”

Snape contorts his mouth into a bitter smile.

“And if I said that Potter was right? That I was the snake who slithered into an honest old man’s trust and spied for Voldemort all the time?”

“Even if it was true, I love a man who looks at what he’s done. Tha’s more than many people would do.”

Snape crosses his arms in front of his chest. He looks at the cobblestones at his feet. They blur before his eyes.

“I wish they had let the Dementors take my soul. It would have been easier than to hear the screams again every night, to see the fear in their eyes, when they know they’re about to die ... There were a few whom I let go, because I could ...”

//There was that young wizard at the trial, who described the night when Death Eaters broke into his parents’ house, the tall man in the Death Eater mask, who pushed him inter a room ter have his way with him, and jes told him ter tear his clothes and ter make his nose bleed. He never so much as laid a hand upon him, when they were alone and the boy obeyed, and after a good while, he dragged him out and made him get away in the general turmoil ...// 

“And if they would ask the Dead, some of them would tell that I ended their pain more quickly ... Sometimes I got away with it, sometimes not ...” Snape shrugs.

“Sev’rus ...” Hagrid begins, but Snape interrupts him.

“I enjoyed torture, at least when I had freshly joined the Death Eaters ... It soon lost its appeal, though. It began to sicken me. This did not make me stop, however ... That’s the creature you say you love, Rubeus! A stupid youth seeking cheap revenge! Snivellus, who licked Voldemort’s boots! A filthy murderer!” 

The dim sun has vanished behind black clouds. A cold wind has come up. Snape shudders.

“And I still love yeh, Sev’rus,” Hagrid stubbornly repeats. “I know, I shouldn’t say it, ‘cause I don’t know whether they’d allow it, but would yeh mind me goin’ ter Nameless Island with yeh?”

Snape’s dark eyes beneath strands of black hair stare at the half-giant in disbelief.

 

Merlin, doesn’t he listen to what I am telling him? That I tortured good, loving souls like him to death? People who had never seen me before, never done me any harm? – I am thinking death would be too good for me, and he offers me friendship, even – love? I wish I could accept his offer with an open heart ... I wish I could ... by Merlin, I wish I could ... But he is a fool, he is dreaming ...

 

“You are crazy!” Snape hisses. “They would never allow such a thing! And besides – why – why would you give up everything, your friends, your home, your work, to go with a Slytherin, who would take advantage of your friendliness, who would betray you, lie to you and hex you into oblivion as soon as he’d be able to cast a spell again?!”

Hagrid looks at him. His bearded face is serious, his bright blue eyes full of trust.

“Yeh wouldn’t do that, Sev’rus.”

“Don’t make me!” Snape hisses. Again, he turns away, bending over as if under a Cruciatus curse.

 

He trusts me! He sees something good in me ... And he is right. I would not harm him, even if Voldemort or the Devil himself would order me to do so ... I could not ... I am sick and tired of violence and power plays ... I cannot fight Hagrid ... His love, his trust ...

 

Snape turns back to Hagrid, his face dismayed, his voice broken.

“You damned trusting Gryffindor! You are more cruel than a Dementor could ever be! I would be able to understand if you betrayed me, reported what I said to the Governor, made fun of me by getting up my hopes, only to thwart them – but you mean what you say!”

“Yes I do,” Hagrid simply answers. Gently, he pushes away the wild strands of hair from Snape’s face. Severus does not recoil from his touch, although there is a helpless rage in his eyes. However, there is also a glint of something Hagrid knows from a wild animal which has decided to trust the hand which touches it.

//Yeh’re beautiful, Sev’rus ...//

 

*****  
“You are a free man, Hagrid, “ Ares Irons says. Hagrid has asked for a few minutes of his time after his visit to Snape. “You do not need anyone’s permission to go to Nameless Island to apply for work there.”

He frowns and concentrates on a document on his desk.

“Thank yeh, Sir,” Hagrid mumbles.

Irons looks up from the document.

“For what?” He sounds impatient.

Hagrid’s blue eyes twinkle a bit.

“Fer lettin’ me know about the wild animals on Nameless Island, Sir.”

The Governor signs the document. For a moment, the shadow of a smile creeps around the corners of his mouth.

“Give my regards to Minerva McGonagall. Tell her to give you the references you deserve. Severus Snape will leave Azkaban for Nameless Island on Friday next week at seven sharp in the morning.”

 

*****  
“Severus Snape’s Sentence Changed To Life-Long Banishment” 

is no longer worth a headline on the first page. It is hidden somewhere in the “Before We Go To Press” section in the middle of the paper lying on the Headmistress’s desk. The paper has been opened and folded at that page, so Hagrid notices, but mostly because of the note the Headmistress has made at the margin: “Who told them?”

Minerva McGonagall folds the paper and pushes it into a drawer. Hagrid studies the Headmistress’s room. Albus Dumbledore’s former office still looks as if the old Headmaster could wake up from his sleep in the golden frame on the wall at any time and take over again, although Minerva McGonagall now has been Headmistress for about six, almost seven years. Hagrid understands. Some wounds take a long time to heal. 

What he has to say will not lighten the Headmistress’s burden. But his decision is firm. He has prepared well, made a lot of arrangements. The Headmistress will only have to give her approval.

“Ares Irons sends his regards,” he begins, “And I quit.”

Professor McGonagall looks at him over her half-moon glasses. She does not appear to be that surprised. 

“Yeh remember Francis Addlethorpe? He’d like ter apply fer the gamekeeper job,” Hagrid quickly continues.

“I remember him well,” the Professor answers. “A heavyset young man, a Hufflepuff in his schooldays at Hogwarts. Not a scholar, but with good marks in Magical Plants and Care of Magical Creatures.”

“I’ve gone through everything with him and talked ter the Centaurs. They know Francis well, and promised ter support him. I also spoke ter Mosag, and she’s promised ter keep peace as long as no one’ll disturb their nets.”

Minerva sighs. 

“So, what can I do more than take your word for it, Hagrid, accept your resignation and wish you good luck? I can only thank you for your consideration and Mr Addlethorpe for his readiness to take over at such short notice.”

She gets up from behind her desk, goes over to Hagrid and takes both of his huge hands into her own.

“I hate to let you go, Hagrid. You were always a great help and support. But frankly, your decision doesn’t come as a surprise to me.”

Hagrid is a bit embarrassed. “Francis will do well, I’m sure,” he answers. “Besides – other than me, he’s a fully trained wizard. I think I can be much more useful at Nameless Island now than at Hogwarts. Yeh may not understand, Professer ...”

//She’s signed letters asking about him in prison, after all ...//

McGonagall shakes her head. 

“I know that you leave because of Severus Snape, and frankly, I admire your decision. Severus is not a pleasant man, but his life was far from easy. Everybody heaped demands on him and worse: abuse and hatred. I believe more often than not he served as a pawn and a whipping boy for the dark and the light side alike. And I think he deserves someone around him who will not put demands on him for a change.”

She brings up another subject.

“Now you need a reference, Hagrid.” She takes pen and paper and begins to write. 

It takes longer than Hagrid has expected, and it will not do to try and find out what she is writing, so he lets his eyes wander around the room. Dumbledore’s instruments, his books, everything reverently kept in its place. Hagrid looks at the portraits of the former Headmasters – Albus Dumbledore sleeping in his frame – Merlin knows, he needs his rest –

Hagrid gasps. Dumbledore has opened his eyes. They have the familiar mischievous gleam. The old wizard smiles and winks at Hagrid, putting a finger to his lips. Hagrid exhales, and his breath sweeps a few parchments from the Headmistress’s desk.

She looks up.

“Are you alright, Hagrid?”

Hagrid is already on his knees to retrieve the papers and parchments. 

“Sorry bout tha’, Professer, too clumsy of me. I was jes’ breathin’.”

The Headmistress chooses to ignore the incident.

“Well, good-bye and good luck to you, Hagrid.” She hands him the reference she has written. And suddenly she hugs as much of him as she can reach.

“Take care,” she says. “Give my regards to Ares Irons. – And to Severus,” she adds after a moment of thought. 

Hagrid leaves with a last look at Dumbledore’s portrait on the wall over McGonagall’s head. He seems to be asleep again, but Hagrid knows what he has seen.

 

*****  
Friday comes along. For the last time, Hagrid locks his hut and looks around. The lake, the castle in the distance, the path to Hogsmeade leading past his vegetable garden – he will miss everything. He has said goodbye to all his friends, as far as he could find them: Bane and Firenze, the Centaurs, Mosag and her children, many other creatures from the Forbidden Forest, the teachers, staff, house elves and a lot of the students at Hogwarts, Madam Rosmerta, Francis Addlethorpe, all the Weasleys he could find, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Tonks ... He has not told everybody why he leaves and where he will go, but a lot of them seem to know anyway. He will miss them all, but Severus will need him more ...

He puts the key under the doormat, takes Fang’s collar and walks along the garden path. Carefully, he closes the gate. Remus Lupin joins him after he has fought off Fang’s wild, slobbery greeting. Hagrid silently appreciates that the Professor will come with him to Azkaban to meet Severus again.

The coach with the silent guard is already waiting at the next crossroads. For almost two years now, it has brought Hagrid to Azkaban and back, first once every two weeks, then every week. Now it will be the last time. The Thestrals in front of the coach spread their wings, and, as usual, the journey is made with the speed of lightning. 

Threateningly, the grim stone walls of Azkaban loom over them. A side entrance opens, and the coach which brought them rumbles in. The side entrance closes. They wait. 

“What time is it?” Hagrid anxiously asks Lupin. Fang whimpers. He is restless and frightened, the half-giant calms him down. 

Lupin looks at his old-fashioned pocket watch.

“Quarter to seven.”

The main gate opens, and another coach rolls out. The Thestrals pulling this one are the largest specimens Hagrid has ever seen. They are powerful and can be barely reined in by one of the five guards accompanying the coach. Hagrid is surprised to recognise Harry Potter as the leader of the small group, which is mounted on Thestrals. He gives Lupin a questioning look.

“Ares Irons is said to command a specially trained group of Aurors,” Lupin explains. “Probably these guards belong to them.”

“Would yeh believe it, he’s a grown man now. But he doesn’t look too happy, Harry doesn’t,” Hagrid observes, “And isn’t that Derrick from Slytherin? Doesn’t look too happy, either.”

“Ares Irons is known for expecting strict discipline,” Lupin answers, smiling ever so slightly.

The guards and the coach have reached them. Harry Potter dismounts and greets the two men officially. Again, Hagrid feels the distance that has come between them. He knew the boy well, but he does no longer know the young man, who will accompany them to Nameless Island, leading a group of four men. 

Another side gate is opened, and Severus Snape comes out, without his chains, accompanied by another two guards. He wears a black robe, as he always did, and he walks with dignity, although Hagrid notices that it seems to cost him a lot of effort. 

Snape stops shortly before he reaches the group at the coach, looks around and breathes deeply. Then he walks straight up to Harry. Hagrid sees the young Auror reach for his sword. He wants to move between Snape and Harry, but Lupin holds him back.

“Mr Potter.”

Harry has kept the guards back with a move of his hands, but he seems unsure how to react further. Here, on Azkaban grounds, they cannot fight with Magic. From bodily strength, even if he were not still weakened by his long incarceration, Snape is no match for an elite Auror more than twenty years his junior.

Snape holds Potter’s questioning gaze.

“I taught you to hate, Mr Potter. That was one of the many mistakes I have made, because I could not forget. And it is one of my deepest regrets.” He still holds the young man’s gaze.

 

Potter is one of the few I can ask to forgive me. He will not. Not now. Maybe in twenty or thirty years’ time ... I planted the seed of hatred, and now I’ll have to eat the fruit it has borne ... Black visited me last night ... a ghost asked my forgiveness ... what if we had made out earlier, a step one of us each ...? Instead I poisoned the mind of an innocent boy with my hatred for his father. Why? Because I was spoilt by my father’s hatred for me, another innocent boy, conceived in a moment of weakness from an unloved woman a man was forced to marry ... but was this Potter’s fault? Is it his fault that he looks more like his father than ever ...? Black urged me to accept the love and friendship of a good and brave man ...

He is here. I had half hoped he had gotten second thoughts, but he is here. Brave, trusting Hagrid ... And Lupin. Strange, but I ceased to hate him first ... Perhaps because I sensed that he does not hate me ...?

Well, Potter, will you strike me down with your sword? I would not blame you, if you did.

Harry’s hand twitches as if he would like to draw his sword, but he does not.

Snape looks into the young Auror’s face for a moment longer, as if waiting for a response, but Harry only stares back, his anger and hatred barely contained.

There is a deep sadness in Snape’s face when he turns to Lupin.

“The last of the Marauders,” he says. His voice is almost gentle. “Too many empty seats ...” For a moment, he seems lost in memories, then he rallies. “You know,” he says with a bitter smile, “I envied you. You were friends. You belonged together. At least for a while. I never belonged anywhere ... Well, thank you for coming, Remus.”

“Good luck, Severus.”

Snape nods, then turns to Hagrid and Fang. The boarhound tentatively sniffs Snape’s black robe and sneezes.

“It is still time to leave, Hagrid, to revise your foolish decision.”

Hagrid shakes his head.

“Me mind ‘s made up, Professer.”

“Time to leave!” Potter sounds impatient.

Snape shrugs, climbs into the waiting coach, Fang and Hagrid follow, after the latter has secured his few belongings on the roof of the coach and has shaken hands with Lupin.

The coach rumbles off, first on the ground, then the Thestrals spread their wings, and they fly. Fang is not too happy about the upward motion, but Hagrid scratches his ears, talking quietly to him, and the dog lies down on the floor with a deep sigh which sounds almost human.

Hagrid looks out of the window. The giant fortress on the bare, ragged stone in the sea vanishes quickly from sight behind deep-hanging grey clouds and mist. And then there is the sun, a fiery ball on the horizon. Its rays find their way into the coach, to the dark figure perched on the wooden bench opposite the half-giant. Severus reminds Hagrid of a raven he once found with a broken wing and nursed back to health. When he had set the bird free again, it had perched on the windowsill, just as Snape is perching on the bench now, before it had spread its wings tentatively and flown off, only the Potions Master is no bird –

“Sev’rus!”

Just in time he grabs Snape, who has torn open one of the doors to throw himself out, pushes him back onto the seat and slams the door shut. Fang yelps and creeps under Hagrid’s seat. The half-giant is holding Snape, who is fighting against the strong grip. Hagrid sees the shape of one of the guards on his Thestral next to the coach draw his wand, and he feels the surge of power. Even he, the untrained wizard, feels that they have left the boundaries of Azkaban, and it is possible to do Magic again. Of course he has felt it often enough, when the coach brought him back to Hogwarts from one of his visits, but never that strong ... As if the powers were amplified by the powerful wizards around him ...

“No!” he shouts at the guard and throws himself over Severus. 

For Snape, the shock must be greater after all these years without magical powers. He seems stunned for the moment, but Hagrid is aware that the wizard whom he is sheltering with his body could kill him in an instant by a mere thought. It does not prevent him from keeping Severus in his arms.

The guard outside lowers his wand. 

“It’s alright,” Hagrid says. The guard looks sceptical, but he leads his Thestral a bit further away from the coach.

 

I thought I had been prepared – calm and composed. After all, they have given me another chance. But I cannot take it. Someone drowning in icy water can no longer grasp the rope thrown to him, which would pull him to safety. His hands will be numbed by the cold ...

I am drowning. I feel my magical powers surge back, but if you pour the hot elixir of life into an empty flask you kept in a cold storage room, it will burst – no, I cannot face freedom, I cannot fight again! I cannot go on! I want oblivion and darkness –

Damned, stupid half-giant! Why don’t you leave me alone? Why do you make me want to go on when I no longer can go on? You are truly, truly good, and I cannot help loving you for being the way you are, but I cannot take what you offer me: Your love and friendship. I am a creature of the darkness, and you belong to the light ...

You hold me. It feels good to be held by you. I want to accept what you want to give, but you still do not know whom you love ...

 

Gently, Hagrid releases Severus from his arms. Snape looks at him behind his strands of stringy black hair.

“I apologise,” he stays stiffly, pushing the hair away from his face. “You see, it is – sometimes I want to live, sometimes I am ready to go on, to fight, but sometimes – sometimes –“ He does not finish his sentence.

“Tha’s why I’m here,” Hagrid answers.

Snape’s dark eyes burn.

“Believe me, Hagrid, I truly appreciate your efforts. Even a Slytherin can appreciate friendliness sometimes, and be grateful. But you do not know what you would have to be up against. And whom you’re trying to help.”

“We’ve talked about tha’ already, Professer,” Hagrid gently objects. 

Snape shakes his head.

“Talk! Talk is nothing! I‘ll show you!” He holds his hand in front of Hagrid’s forehead. “Demonstrate veritatem!”

Instantly, Hagrid’s mind is filled with images, thoughts and sensations, his inner eye flooded with visions: A red-faced, unkempt man beating a skinny boy with his belt; an upside-down view, filled with the grinning faces of the Marauders; Sirius Black, his face distorted with disgust. Hagrid feels the pain and shock, when Snape is violently taken. Other faces, more pain and humiliation: Lucius Malfoy, a cruel smile on his lips; a Death Eater mask; Voldemort’s horrible face. Torture; some hapless man’s eye gouged out; a hand withered by a curse; a man broken, bleeding; Death Eaters; a woman raped by masked creatures. Hagrid feels a short triumph, some of the pain and shame given away to others – then deep disgust. 

Faster and faster come the scenes of torture, violation and suffering. Dumbledore – he believes, he is prepared to reach his hand again. Dumbledore, exhausted and broken, flying through the air, hit by the deathly curse and – hiding in Severus’s dark mind – the mind of a trusted friend - filling it with a bright light. 

Hagrid sees himself, a tall, gentle figure, feels the admiration the boy feels for him; he sees the night-sky ceiling, his heart opens in joy; he feels the pride of the skinny boy filling a flask with a blue potion, sees a small white sugar horse galloping and careening on a grubby palm, again a flash of joy, then sadness and wariness again. 

He sees Harry Potter in the claws of an inhuman Voldemort, he sees Severus coming in, sees Dumbledore emerge from his hiding place in Severus’s mind, helping Harry in the fight, sees Snape stumbling away into darkness, feels his emptiness and despair, knows that Dumbledore has protected his last refuge. Severus agreed to the spell, which makes him unable to give away the secret even under the most painful torture. Only a loving mind will be able to find out ...

Then Harry Potter again, lifting his wand; he should have known it was a trap; no escape, giving up. The dungeons of the Ministry: Crucio- unbelievable pain- questioning – crucio, beatings, rape, veritaserum, each and every curse he ever invented tried on him – so much pain; angry, hateful, mocking faces of Aurors, of guards; potions tried on him, images torn out of his mind – Bartimeus Crouch, interested, smiling. In the end he wants to tell them, only to make them stop ... But he cannot ...

A sea of faces at the trial – so much hatred – Azkaban; hunger, darkness, beatings – Dementors – no thoughts anymore, just pain, fighting against the terrible teeth of a giant creature tearing away flesh – pain – pain – pain – 

Emptiness. Darkness. Then another face: Ares Irons, grim like the Angel of Death; Hagrid’s own face, worried and friendly –

“Finite.” More a broken whisper than a spell.

The images leave Hagrid’s mind. He falls back on the bench, shaken and horrified. He has seen things he will never forget ...

The broken voice whispers again.

“Have you finally got enough? Do you understand now? I’m sure the guards will not hold it against you if you want to fly back with them.” Snape’s eyes are closed. Exhausted, he leans in his corner.

//He did that for Dumbledore ... And I should not go with him, despite all these demons in his head? What kind of friend would I be?//

Hagrid’s decision is firm. Gently, he reaches out and touches Severus’s pale cheek. 

“I don’t say what I’ve seen jes now won’t give me nightmares. But I’ll still go with yeh – if yeh want me, that is. I won’t be in yer way, Sev’rus, if yeh don’t want me underfoot. But I’ll be there. If yeh need me, I’m willin’ ter face what yeh face.” 

His large fingers stroke Snape’s cheek. Severus does not fight off the caress.

 

He is shocked, horrified. And yet he wants to be with me ...

 

Hagrid remembers that he has brought something for Severus. Decades ago, he has wrapped it in tinfoil, put it on a shelf and forgot about it. While cleaning out his hut for his successor he has found it again. Now he can give it to Severus, for whom he intended it long ago.

Awkwardly, he shoves the small package of tinfoil into Snape’s hands. 

“What is this?”

“Jes’ open it.”

Thin, delicate fingers peel away the tinfoil. The small white horse rears and gallops up the sleeve of the threadbare black robe, up onto the man’s shoulder. Long fingers pluck it away. It rears up again in Snape’s palm. The fingers slowly close around it, as a shadow darkens the pale face behind the black strands of hair. Dark eyes stare at Hagrid, and he cannot read that look ...

Then Snape opens his hand again. The little white horse suddenly unfolds wings, takes flight and vanishes through the coach window towards the sky.

Severus Snape smiles. It is a tentative, crooked smile, but a smile nevertheless. The smile of a man who sees a ray of light in the darkness.

“It was you all the time,” he says quietly.

Hagrid clears his throat noisily. 

“Erm – yeh didn’t take it then, so what was I ter do? Yeh wouldn’t have taken it if I’d given it ter yeh in person, then, would yeh?”

One of the guards looks into the coach.

“We’re almost there.”

Hagrid feels the coach descending. An island comes into view. Green mountains, the blue ribbons of rivers, a lake, a patchwork of fields, houses. 

Snape takes a short look, but then his eyes return to Hagrid in awe and wonder. 

“I’ll be glad to have you around, Rubeus,” he says, and Hagrid knows what he really means.

 

THE END


End file.
